


The Empty Flat

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adoption, Friend!Lock, Gen, No Sex, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John finds out Mary is hiding an entire flat from him, he suspects the worst, but Sherlock insists that everything is perfectly fine... despite not knowing the details. </p><p>Dedicated to Vinny'sAsguardian in response to his prompt to see John and Mary happy with Sherlock keeping them that way... and being an ass. Oh, and thanks for posting my stories on AO3 you wanker! XOXO</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empty Flat

I do not read comments. Corrections can be sent [HERE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/?tag=7.+spelling/grammar+corrections). Comments will be ignored and the user banned without warning.

We do not own ANY of these characters, shows, movies, or the companies associated with them. We do not make money off these fics and will not accept offers of funds.

***

 

 

 

Mary was in tears and it both broke John’s heart and vindicated him. He was close to the truth and he knew it, he could _feel_ it.

“The truth, Mary. The damned _truth!_ Or I’ll have Sherlock tell me.”

“John… John, you don’t want to do this,” Sherlock spoke softly, “You and Mary are happy together, have been for years, let the past die.”

“Yeah, yeah, except it’s _not_ the past, is it Sherlock? Because she’s got a second _home_!”

John held up the records he’d dug up, waving them under Mary’s nose, and she began to sob brokenly.

“P-please John. You promised. You told me you’d stay away from there.”

“And I have, Mary, I’ve kept my promise. I haven’t set one foot in _your other flat!_ What’s in there, Mary? It’s too small for a whole family, just a single room and a toilet, so what’s in there? Hm? Your other husband? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? An illegal business? I swear, if you’re selling _drugs_ out of there…”

“John,” Sherlock tried to sooth while Mary all but collapsed onto their sofa in misery, “Mary isn’t doing anything _wrong_.”

“You obviously know what it is, so just tell me Sherlock. Or are you in on it, too?” John demanded.

“I don’t know for certain,” Sherlock sighed, “But I have a few theories and _none_ of them involve Mary doing something illegal or damaging to your marriage.”

“But you don’t _know_ do you?!” John demanded, and then paused in confusion, “Wait a minute, how could you _not_ know? You always know. I’ve been researching this for a week, _you_ should have known six days ago.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “I was respecting Mary’s privacy and _not_ looking into it- as she asked us to.”

“She asked us not to _go there_ ,” John argued, “She didn’t ask us not to look into it.”

“It was implied,” Sherlock shrugged, “Honestly, John, just let it go. Surely she’s allowed some secrets?”

“Not one that big!” John argued.

“You don’t know _how_ big it is. It’s just a flat. For all you know she meets with her secret knitting club there.”

“Why would she keep knitting a secret?” John asked.

“It’s an embarrassing hobby,” Sherlock shrugged, “Which only old women do?”

“I do knit, and it isn’t for old women thank you very much!” Mary intoned, “And I swear to you, John, it isn’t anything you need to worry about!”

“You’re filtering _our_ hard earned money into that flat and whatever is in it! A fair amount, too!” John pointed out.

“I know. I know. I’m _sorry_ , John. I’ll get a second job and…” Mary stammered.

“It’s not about the money! It’s about you keeping something huge from me!” John argued angrily, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going there. Give me the key.”

“No,” Mary whispered softly.

“The _key_ Mary!” John shouted.

Mary closed her eyes in misery and shook her head. John huffed in anger and stormed out of their flat while Sherlock followed after hot on his heels. John hailed three cabs before one of them stopped for him, Sherlock trying to talk him out of his adventure the entire way. John slid into the cab and Sherlock climbed in after while John recited the address.

The flat was at the very top of a large building in a rather run down area. The rent was so low it had taken John a few months to notice it coming out of their accounts, especially with Mary the one who balanced their books. She’d been being slick about it, filtering money from three different accounts into a fourth in her name only. When he’d realized it he’d asked her and she’d called it a savings account, stating she just wanted a bit of an emergency account. It had brought up trust issues because John had thought she felt him bad with funds. In the end she’d confessed it was for something secret, but begged him not to pry. He’d thought it was for their upcoming fifth anniversary and had been rather excited… until the anniversary had come and gone with nothing to show for it. That’s when he had begun to pry further and followed Mary about with Sherlock one day. He’d seen her go into this building but they’d lost her in the hall just as Sherlock had gotten cold feet and started protesting that following her was a bad idea.

Now John was seriously operating under the theory that Mary was having an affair with _Sherlock_ , which was proof of how mad this whole thing was driving him. He knew from the information he’d gotten hold of that the tiny little flat was the third from the right on the very top floor, and that the top two floors were hardly occupied because there was no lift and no one wanted to climb four to five flights of stairs to get to a shite flat. There were also a few people who had told him the hot water didn’t get up that high.

John stared up at the row of balconies and gasped. There was someone standing on the tiny balcony, covered from head to toe despite the heat of the day with a dress or perhaps coat blowing in the breeze. Someone significantly taller and with white hair stepped out on the balcony behind (her?) and gently led the person back inside.

An adult and child. A much older adult and a young child. Mary had a child.

“John?” Sherlock asked, “Are we going in?”

“No,” John sighed sadly, “I think I’ve figured this out and you know what? I don’t want to see him.”

“Him?” Sherlock asked, apparently having been busy with his phone while John was looking upward. He glanced upwards now, but there was nothing left to see.

“Let’s just go home.”

“You’re dropping it?”

“No,” John replied, “I’m filing for divorce.”

“John…”

“Leave it, Sherlock,” John snapped, “Or choose a side.”

Sherlock gave him a confused look and then turned sharply to head inside the building.

“Where are you going?” John asked, following after him as he picked the lock rather than bother with the clearly broken-down buzzer system.

“Perhaps if you solve this it _won’t_ end your marriage, but your likely incorrect assumptions most certainly will at this point.”

“I saw a child on the balcony, Sherlock,” John snapped, “And an old man standing behind her. I think it’s pretty obvious what happened. She had a child with someone older before she met me, but it was an impossible relationship. Now she’s married herself a doctor to pay their way.”

“Yes, in a virtual slum where they’re forced to share a single room bedsit. That horrid, gold digging bitch,” Sherlock stated in a flat voice.

“Alright. Fine. It _might_ require further investigation.”

John and Sherlock hurried up to the top floor and Sherlock picked the lock. When they stepped in the room was empty of everything except a set of bunk beds, kitchen utensils, and a few ratty toys. A chest at the foot of the bed was full of adult and children’s clothing.

“Well, the person living with the child is a woman,” Sherlock stated, “Or transgender.”

“Okay, that doesn’t mean I’m entirely wrong.”

“You have to admit it’s a pretty good indication.”

“What else? And where _are_ they?”

“Either Mary alerted them or they saw us from the balcony; so the roof, the fire escape, a second set of stairs on the north side of the building, a neighbors flat, or a harrowing climb from one balcony to another. Whichever it is, they’re long gone. Might as well make the best of it. Odd.”

“What’s odd?” John asked, glancing over to where Sherlock was rifling through the drawers of the kitchen.

“No birth certificate. No identification at all. It’s as if no one lives here at all.”

“There’s an awful lot of bedding and clothes, Sherlock.”

“Yes, but there’s no _real_ proof that the occupants are still here. No mail. Not even adverts.”

“There’s food,” John replied, checking the kitchen area, “Fairly healthy stuff, too. In fact… no junk food. None at all. Not a single chip.”

“Living frugally. They’re surviving on what they need instead of what they want,” Sherlock stated, “This is a bolt hole, John.”

“A bolt hole? You mean Mary is smuggling illegals into the country?”

“It certainly looks that way,” Sherlock replied, but he sounded uncertain.

“Come on,” John urged, “Let’s go ask her.”

“She wasn’t communicative before,” Sherlock replied, following John back out into the hall, “What makes you think she’ll tell us now?”

“Because now we have a guess that’s right. Just like with criminals, once we show her we already know all there is to know she’ll just tell us all of it. Then it will make sense and my relationship with my wife will be repaired.”

Sherlock was silent and looked unsettled as he slid into the seat beside John on the way back.

“We’re missing something, aren’t we?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“Something big?”

“Mm, something big enough to be the whole picture, I’d say,” Sherlock replied.

“You don’t think it’s a bolt hole now?”

“I’ve no idea what it is, but I doubt it’s the obvious. She’s too clever for that. She’s kept it a secret longer than the few months you saw it on the books, that’s for certain. They might not have had obvious evidence that they were living there for long, but the _subtle_. No, John. Those same two people have been there for _years_. It may be set up like a bolt hole, but it isn’t one.”

“So we’re back to square one,” John groaned, “Should we go back?”

“No, there’s nothing else there. Not unless we can catch the occupants inside and talk to them.”

“Well, they won’t expect us immediately, right?” John asked, “If we go back now…”

“ _Mary_ will expect us. She knows our methods. We need to alter our usual pattern completely.”

“Okay, how?”

“We should search your current flat and look for safety deposit box keys and the like. We need to find out where the _real_ information about those two people in the flat is.”

A search of their flat revealed nothing except that John and Mary owned far too many things, most of which John began to toss into trash bags in frustration.

“Don’t worry,” John told Sherlock, “I haven’t thrown any of _her_ things out.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Sherlock replied.

“Of course you weren’t.”

John sighed as he dropped the last bag onto the curb and headed back inside, but was halted by Mary returning. She gave John a terrified look and bolted inside to stop and stare around in horror. Sherlock was watching her carefully, which gave John some hope that he’d find something but he gave John a negative headshake.

“What now?” Mary asked in a choked voice, “You’ve been and gone. You’ve searched our home as if it were a crime scene. What now, John? Interrogate me? Again?”

“No,” John replied, “No, Mary, I’m done now. Absolutely. Done.”

“Good,” Mary sobbed, “Then let’s put this behind us, okay?”

“Yeah, good. That’s a good idea,” John nodded, “Let’s start with that side of the room.”

“Sorry?” Mary asked.

“Your things. I put your things over there, and mine over here. I figure we can be grown up about this and split most of it down the middle, but you check and see I haven’t misplaced anything. I’ll go downtown and file the divorce papers tomorrow.”

Mary sank down on the couch, sobbing brokenly while Sherlock stepped forward and turned John around sharply.

“Damn it, John! Haven’t you been _listening?!”_ Sherlock snapped, “Mary hasn’t done anything _wrong_!”

“Except kept a gigantic secret from me for our entire marriage- apparently involving a child. A child that _we_ couldn’t have together!”

Mary flinched at the reminder that she hadn’t been able to give them a family. The doctors had called it early menopause, and wrote off her pregnancy-like symptoms as hormonal changes. They had been devastated, but they’d muddled through and found happiness despite that- until now. John felt himself tearing up, but proceeded to walk into the kitchen despite that and unplugged the toaster. He walked back into the den and held it up.

“Yours or mine? I can’t recall.”

“And you call _me_ inhuman,” Sherlock growled, “John, stop this. I know you’re angry, but you’ll regret this later.”

“Not likely,” John replied.

“Keep it,” Mary whispered softly.

“What?”

“Keep it. Keep everything. I won’t be made to choose again,” Mary replied, voice soft and calm, “I’ll just pack my clothes and a few personal items and leave.”

“That’s it?” John and Sherlock asked together.

“Yes,” Mary stated, and headed into their bedroom to pack.

John stood in the living room and fretted.

“You expected her to give you what you wanted, didn’t you?” Sherlock asked, “You expected her to tell you the truth if you put your marriage on the line. A rather good bluff, actually, especially from you. It’s just a shame it didn’t work. Whatever her secret is, it’s important enough to divorce you over.”

“And yet you _still_ insist it isn’t anything damaging to our marriage!” John shouted, turning on Sherlock in a fit.

“Well it is now you’ve _made_ it damaging,” Sherlock shouted back before lowering his voice, “Honestly, John, why didn’t you just wait for us to solve the case?”

“It’s driving me _mad_ Sherlock!”

Mary walked passed them with a duffle bag over her shoulder and a suitcase in hand. She didn’t say goodbye and she didn’t look at them. She headed out the door with her head held high as if proud. She didn’t turn back even when John lost his nerve and shouted after her. She walked quickly and he stopped halfway down the hall and stared at her as she hit the lift button and headed downstairs.

“I think I know how she kept it paid for in the past,” Sherlock informed, “You told me she shopped constantly?”

“Yes, it was her favorite past time,” John sighed, “She’d go out almost every day and buy something.”

“Clothes?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. Clothes, jewelry, watches, shoes… gods, the amount of shoes she brought home,” John sighed.

“Then why is her closet empty after only two moderately small containers were removed?”

“What?” John asked.

Back into the flat they rushed and John pulled open her dresser drawers to find very little remaining and the closet in a similar state.

“But she brought home bags and boxes and… Where did it all go?”

“Back to the stores,” Sherlock chuckled, “She charged it and then returned it for cash before funneling that into the flat. Something must have stopped her from thinking that would work so she stopped and resorted to a less effective method.”

“The dress,” John groaned, “I commented on a dress I saw her bring home a few months ago. I said it was gorgeous and I wanted to see her in it more often… instead of the same four dresses she always wears.”

“She realized you’d figure out the clothes weren’t staying so she altered her plans. She probably intended to find a new method, but that didn’t happen- possibly because she was too busy between work, cases, marriage, and her lies.”

“So she fucked up and I found out and then there was no point in changing it.”

“Exactly.”

“So now what?”

“Well, since your marriage is effectively over…”

“Don’t _say_ that!”

“She’ll go to her other flat, of course. So…”

“So we go there and solve this,” John sighed, “Right. Fine. Let’s go.”

“You don’t seem excited,” Sherlock wondered as they pulled up, “There’s unlikely to be a body, you know. No reason to be somber.”

“Not a physical body, no,” John sighed, “Just the ghost of my marriage.”

“Regrets, John? I did try to warn you.”

“Yeah, you did,” John nodded, “Let’s go.”

Up the stairs once more and down the hall that stank of cat urine and old sweat. John was practically running, but he would rather it be in the opposite direction. Suddenly it felt like nothing, absolutely nothing, could be worse than losing Mary. He wanted to stop in his tracks, pull out his phone, text her that he took it all back, and go home to help her organize her less-than-full dresser drawers. Instead he strode forward and waited while Sherlock tried to silently pick the lock.

Mary threw open the door before he could manage it and scowled down at them.

“Leave before I call the police,” She snapped, and then slammed it in their faces.

“Balcony?” John asked.

“Balcony,” Sherlock agreed.

Mary headed them off there as well, this time with a scowl and her mobile to her ear.

“We’re just… going down,” Sherlock insisted.

“See that you do,” Mary snapped, and turned sharply to re-enter the flat.

John was just staring after her in misery when a horrifying face appeared between the drapes as she swished past and John nearly let go of the railing. Then the curtains closed and he caught his grasp just as Sherlock made a grab at his shirt.

“I’m fine… I just... saw something.”

“The face?”

“Yes.”

They climbed back into the adjacent apartment and worked their way out to the hallway again.

“Now what?”

“Roof.”

John and Sherlock dropped from the roof onto the balcony and shot through it before Mary could react.

“Don’t you hurt her, don’t you _dare!”_ Mary screamed.

John put his arms up to fend off Mary’s swings while Sherlock darted around her and spun around in a circle to view the room and gather data. By the time John had Mary pinned in his arms, holding her gently but firmly, Sherlock was shouting his usual proclamations of ‘oh’ and ‘of course’ and John followed it up with his usual response.

“What? What is it?”

“ _Who_ is it?” Sherlock replied, “John, you’re going to be _thrilled,_ absolutely thrilled!”

“What? Why?” John panted, still out of breath.

“Because for once you were _right!_ Well, _half_ right. And when I say half right, I mean mostly wrong.”

“What the hell is going on, Sherlock?!” John snapped.

“Mary had a baby eight years ago who was so hideous that she had to be hidden away from the world in shame and…”

“You shut your mouth!” Mary screamed, “You shut your _filthy_ mouth! I love my daughter!”

“But you…” Sherlock started.

“But nothing!” Mary screamed, “Let me go, John!”

John released her and Mary crossed the room quickly to wrap her arms around a child whose face was yellow and gruesomely disfigured. She was breathing with difficulty, a tube in her nose aiding her. The vacancy in her eyes told John why she wasn’t missed at school. The old woman sitting behind the little girl on the bunk bed reached out to pet Mary’s hair.

“Mary, darling, it’s time. You can’t hide her forever. This man will be _better_.”

“No he won’t,” Mary sobbed, “He’s already tried to make me choose!”

“Mary,” The old woman sighed, “Oh darling.”

“Who are you?” John asked.

“The caretaker,” Sherlock replied, “Probably someone from Mary’s past.”

“A nun from the orphanage,” The woman stated, “I’m Sister Amanda.”

“So you’ve been caring for her for six years now?” Sherlock asked.

“Eight,” Sister Amanda explained, “I was there when Mary dropped her off at the orphanage… and when she came back for her two years later.”

“You gave her up?” John asked sadly.

“I had to,” Mary replied sadly, “My ex-husband would have killed us both. He told me to make a choice and… I made the wrong one. I chose that _bastard_ over my daughter. I left him a year later when I realized my daughter’s face wasn’t the problem… _he_ was.”

“Mummy…” The little girl spoke up, “Say bad word.”

John rubbed his hands over his face.

“Mary I… gods, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Just get out.”

“No. No, just let me…”

“Get _out!_ ”

“Let me apologize!” John shouted.

Mary looked confused, holding her child close and looking back and forth between John and Sherlock.

“A face only a mother could love,” Mary stated softly, “That’s what he told me; that _I_ was defective for loving my own child. That she didn’t deserve to live. I told him I killed her but I really dropped her off with Sister Amanda. I just… I couldn’t live without her, but I wouldn’t risk someone else…”

“You thought I’d hate her too? Ask you to kill your own child?” John asked, his voice agonized.

“If you’d just _trusted me_ ,” Mary whispered.

“I’m sorry. I will. I’ll never be such a fool again, Mary-“

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sherlock muttered.

“-I swear I won’t,” John finished, “Just… come home. With her. Bring her home.”

“What?”

“Bring her home. She doesn’t deserve to live in this slum. Bring her home.”

Mary was silent a moment, stroking her daughter’s platinum blonde hair, “Let Annabelle decide.”

John nodded, dropped to his knees in front of the child, and smiled softly at her.

“Annabelle? I’m John… I’m your Mummy’s… friend. I’d like to make a go at being your dad. Would you like to come home with us and make a fresh start?”

“Oh for gods’ sake,” Sherlock groaned in disgust, but they all ignored him.

“Go?” Annabelle asked, “Ou-side?”

“Outside? Sure. Of course you can go outside.”

“Grass?”

“Absolutely.”

“John, she’ll be teased!” Mary argued.

“Who isn’t?” John asked.

“She’ll be bullied! Beaten!”

“Ah, no. No she won’t, because she’ll have the best martial arts instructor in London, right Sherlock?”

“What? Oh, yes,” Sherlock agreed absently, “Fine.”

“Her breathing…” Mary whimpered.

“We’ll work on it. She’ll get stronger. Mary, she can’t stay here. It isn’t _right_ , and it isn’t good for either of you. Or us.”

Mary was crying again, and John’s heart ached to know he’d made his wife cry more in the last twenty-four hours than all their difficulties had in their entire marriage. He held her close, one arm around the little girl she’d been hiding from the world, and let his own tears fall.

“We’ll be a family, Mary,” John told them both, “You’ll see. We’ll fix this and we’ll be happy again. All _four_ of us.”

“Oh for _gods’_ sake!” Sherlock shouted, and stormed out into the hallway, “If you need me I’ll be out in the streets being sick!”


End file.
